The Weekday One Hundred

Orlan gazed at the pair of obsolete machines.

He had heard about them when he was a kid. His great-grandparents would always tell stories, back in the day stories, about how life used to be. And the tales they would spin about the antiquated way people laundered clothes were some of his favorites.

Orlan secured the washer and dryer to the wall of the convention center. The machines were going on permanent display, a throwback when life was more difficult, more barbaric.

But really, it was a warning from those in charge.

And Orlan received the message loud and clear.